


nothing ever changes

by alstroemxria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, But it takes a while, Civil War, Dark Magic, Dark does not mean evil, Duelling, F/M, Ilvermorny, M/M, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Ministry of Magic, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Multi, Post-Canon, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Salem Witch Trials, Slow Build, Slow Burn, United Kingdom, United States, Worldbuilding, american wizarding politics, he does, james sirius potter becomes a dark wizard, or does he?, romance doesn't happen right away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alstroemxria/pseuds/alstroemxria
Summary: There is a path that all must travel down in life. The dirt road carries on through the countryside until it reaches a fork, where one must choose between a murky path that twists and bends deeper into the undergrowth of the forest, and a straightforward path to a grassy meadow under the sun. Both are equally as trodden as the other.No past traveler can say for sure which is better. Everyone must choose, and the one you choose will make all the difference.Beware child, it is not wicked to wander around in the dark, but do be careful, for it is a treacherous path built to be explored alone. So many have perished in the pursuit of the unknown. Keep sight of what is true for even the purest of hearts can lose their way.
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, James Sirius Potter/Original Female Character(s), Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Rose Weasley/Original Character(s), Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter, Teddy Lupin/Original Character(s), Teddy Lupin/Victoire Weasley
Kudos: 5





	nothing ever changes

**Author's Note:**

> The story's backdrop will be primarily in the United States such as southern states like Louisiana, and east coast states like Massachusetts (obviously). Though my home state of Colorado will make an appearance! Since the US is a literal melting pot of cultures, I will be incorporating folklore and mythology from all over the world. So, if you know any cool legend from your culture, just leave a comment and I'll look over it and maybe include it in the story. 
> 
> As a last point, I'd like to mention that this story will not have an upload schedule. Though I will try to have a new upload every other week. Don't count on it, I'm literal trash when it comes to updates. 
> 
> Any feedback would be appreciated! Enjoy the story!

**25 March 1692**

**Salem, Massachusetts**

Quietly weeping in the middle of the room, a woman stood cowering before the eyes of her fellow brethren. Dressed in a plain, worn-out, indigo dress, she commanded nothing but pity from those in attendance. Was this truly the soul responsible for the evil that walked among them? Her lean figure spoke of poverty with those bony shoulders and pale, frail hands that clutched the sides of her skirt as if to prevent herself from collapsing right there and then. Limp black hair hung freely down her back and her hooded eyes were a dull shade of brown. There was something hidden in those eyes, an emotion buried deep within that glazed-over stare. It could only be described as pure despair, a type of pain that not many will ever feel in their lifetime. Life had not been kind to her, and the evidence hid behind her unhemmed sleeves where a smattering of purple bruises decorated her sallow skin.

How she wished for nothing more than to be tucked away in bed. She could picture it so clearly – waking up to a mop of black curls, those tiny hands tugging at her nightgown, and her daughter’s melodic voice cutting through the silence. _One more minute, please. Just one more minute. Stay with me_. But alas, it was not meant to be… her daughter was not here.

She cagily turned around and observed the back row of the gallery where her husband sat alone – a self-imposed exile, in case his mere presence brought about more unwelcomed spirits. With newfound desperation, she stared at him as if beckoning him to look at her face one more time. To a stranger, his quiet yet almost restless demeanor could be misread as fear for her life, but she knew better than them. How could she not?

Ten long years. Ten years of nothing but resentment.

There was no way she could ever mistake the coldness in those eyes as anything but abject fury. Now thinking about it, she highly doubted that this incident would be seen as anything but a setback to him. This could be a blessing in disguise as now he could take another as his wife and maybe, just maybe this time he’d try to be a good husband. If that was too much to ask for then hopefully, he’d at least be a good person. Though knowing him, she sorely doubted it.

The sinking feeling in her chest only grew as the memories flooded back. Where to begin? The mutual revulsion for one another that slightly waned at the prospect of her inheritance. Don’t die an old maid, so her mother begged. And just like that, she married him. A decision she’d regret for the rest of her life, though as short as it seemed to be at the moment.

Their first night together was just as awful, but here it was stitching itself back together. Dark eyes briefly flashing before his clenched fists rained down in vengeance. All for a bucket of water she failed to refill after washing her face. She could still remember that night as if it had been yesterday – stumbling out to the creek, half-dressed, and shaking like a leaf. The thought of a wolf caused her to hurry along without hesitation. For spilling half the bucket on her way back, the new bride had spent the night locked out with a hooting barn owl as her only companion. Feeling the cool breeze brush up against her bare legs, she had peered out into the night – gangly shadows danced in the moonlight, and the creek noisily splattered in the distance, and for a moment, the gentle susurrates of the forest had beckoned her to join them. But then, the abrupt crunch of dead leaves followed by a deafening crack had kept her frozen still until the sun peered over the horizon. He found her trembling at the door later that morning, which had pleased him so much so that it became a frequent occurrence in their household.

Whether it be leaving the fire to die out or for simply existing, she spent the night outside. Though frightened at first, she came to look forward to the darkness. The forest came alive at night with so much noise that she was never truly alone. Listening to the wind howl brought her more comfort than any sermon could. Once she had even seen the unexplainable. The moon lit up the sky brighter than it had ever done before. Then it happened – streaks of red from every direction and blinding hues of green bursting out of clouds. Just as quickly as it started, it ended without anyone but her noticing. The strange always seemed to find her.

As she thought over every decision that had led her to this moment, the man known as William Good hunched himself over, in an attempt to avoid the piercing glances coming from every single direction. Terror washed over him as his eyes drifted to his wife, the pathetic little fool he had taken in after her stepfather promised him a small parcel of land. What good was it now? Truthfully, she had little to offer as a wife with her abysmal needlework, sickly body, and more debt than any respectable woman should have at her age. It wasn’t like she possessed any womanly allure either, at least not with those sunken eyes and especially not with that unsightly mole on her back.  
  
Any inkling of beauty in that thing was quickly overshadowed by her temper that flared at the slightest provocation. The insolent mouth that woman had on her would make even the ungodliest of men weep in utter shame. Even knowing all of this, he never thought of her as a wicked person. It simply wasn’t a word he’d use to describe her. Then again, what should he have expected from the same woman who ran off with some tramp only to come back disgraced a year later? Surely that had been a sign from God himself.

A sign he’d ignored for so long. The man did not pray for her absolution, of course not. If she hanged then it was merely retribution for straying from the path of righteousness. A just punishment if you asked him.

Though shameful as it was, he didn’t deny his own ignorance – when Harthorne stood at their door with a sneer across his face, the allegation had stumped him but the more he thought about it, turning the evidence over and over in his head, the more it made sense. It’d be a lie to say his wife was a pious woman. Though in his defense, she never showed any outward sign of wickedness. Unless he counted her awful temperament that only an indentured servant could ever find remotely charming. More often than not, her mouth kept them at odds with their neighbors. But he’d always thought of it as a product of her upbringing. It was a wonder she’d made it this far in life with that man as her father. His sordid end stained them all.

Regardless of circumstance, it was not his place to beg for the life of a walking abomination – the same individual responsible for unleashing a malevolent force onto them all, and he sorely doubted that anyone in their village would take kindly to any plead for clemency. They’d hang him as a warlock, and rightfully so because no faithful servant of God would oppose the death of an unholy creature.

He too wished for her demise as her gravest sin was against her own flesh-and-blood. The serpent of death had wrapped itself around their daughter, and it fought for the right to her soul, and it would continue this way until the witch took her last breath. Her duty was to guide Dorothy toward the path of salvation as their people had done for so long, but his wife had chosen to scorn and torment not only their child but the entire village. Plaguing those girls day-and-night with those ungodly apparitions. But she only truly forsook God the day she tried to corrupt their daughter.

Death was her only way to repent. The only way to save Dorothy from damnation.

Witches were godless creatures whose sole purpose was to inflict unsuspecting villages with famine and suffering, and death until those who remained had no choice but to embrace the darkness. Cursing the innocent in the name of evil. This year’s rotten harvest should have alerted them all to the corrupt forces brewing in their midst, but Salem had grown complacent over the years. A mistake they would all regret until the day they died.

How he failed to detect his wife’s unhallow proclivities was beyond him. What he did know was that his daughter’s life hung in the balance. William Good repented for every single sin, even those he committed unknowingly. Joining himself to a witch in holy matrimony was his first sin. Greed had led him by the nose to that woman. All this trouble for an inheritance they used to pay off her mountains of debt. The second sin was allowing the heathen’s bloodline to continue. Though he could not ignore the ache in his chest whenever he thought of his daughter. He’d failed to protect her innocence from this cruel world.

Now living in a dark, stale room with thieves and nonbelievers, Dorothy would never be free from this dark affliction until the witch ceased to exist. If not for that woman, his daughter could be saved from the evil that plagued her. Surely, she hadn’t written her name in the serpent’s book. She was but a young girl who could not read or write. No one, not even the Parris girl could say for certain that Dorothy had signed her soul away, and for that small mercy, William Good was grateful. His only hope now was that his wife would confess to spare their daughter of the fate that awaited all witches at Gallows Hill. 

Then there was the unborn child to consider in all of this chaos. A pure soul growing inside of that witch. The poor thing stood no chance at life, it couldn’t even repent. If it even managed to survive, which he doubted, the child would be marred by her mother’s sins for the rest of her life. No one would forget the circumstances in which she was given life. She would only be brought into this world to suffer at the hands of man. What would become of her if allowed to live? It was a risk he was not willing to take. For light to prevail, the child could not live. Truly unfortunate but there was no other way.

Consumed by his thoughts, William Good did not hear his wife’s feeble cries.

“Your Excellency,” the woman stammered, teetering forward. “You have the power to see through their deceitful lies! I know of sin, but I am no witch. I compact with no Devil!”

The shaking in her legs grew even more violent, and all she could see through the hazy mist of tears were their indifferent eyes. What a sight she must be. Though truthfully, none of this mattered in the slightest. She knew what they knew – this trial was already over. It never began, it had ended the day the Parris girl accused her. Not a single one of them had any sense of reason. This sham of a trial was merely a spectacle for them to gawk at the witch. Here they might witness her unholy powers in person. Maybe she’d conjure up that yellow bird again. This time around, she’d chuck it at their heads.

“Silence,” the man bellowed. “I shall not have you torment those girls any longer.”

“I dare not gull you. I am falsely accused,” the trembling woman slowly knelt before the men, all of whom carried much different lives from her own. What did they know of hardship? Hunger had consumed her for most of her life. It was a burning hunger for a life she would never know. Their lives were free from such a desire. They had never felt the cold seep into their very bones. To say she was still bitter would be a bald-faced lie. Her resentment had long fleeted at just the age of nineteen. It was her destiny to live this way and die not knowing any other truth. God did not see it fit to bless her as he had with so many others – the same people who had everything but still wanted more. This was retribution for the darkness that lived inside of her.

Lifting her head, she peered up at the men. All influential in their own right. On the far left was Jonathan Corwin, a balding man with a wild glint in his eye. It hadn’t escaped her notice that the man perked up in delight at the prospect of seizing land from Rebecca Nurse’s family. What a shame that she had no land to offer up herself. Next to him, sat an older man, whose eyes shifted uneasily around the room. This time around, she knew him, not just by name but through their sparse interactions during her childhood, which had been nothing but cordial. She had always thought of Thomas Danforth as a fair man, but that did not seem to be the case anymore. There were more men, one of which she did not recognize. But it did not concern her, only one man mattered in the end. There, front and center was William Stoughton with more pride and pomp than anyone else she had ever met in her life.

“Speak truth to me,” Judge Stoughton looked down at her with blatant distaste. “You have made an unholy covenant with death.”

“They lie. I am no witch,” she kept her voice steady. Any sign of weakness would be torn apart by that awful man. What she needed now was to stay calm. “Listen not to those girls.”

“You reek of evil,” a deep rumble came from behind her. It was a voice she knew very well. Make no mistake, she knew Reverend Parris loved to be involved in every single happening in Salem whether it be a small neighborly dispute or some grievous crime. This witch hunt was no different. One would think he’d refrain from such gossip but as she’d learned long ago, it was foolish to expect anything from man. “I saw the serpent in my daughter!”

“I know nothing of these lies,” she repeated slowly. “I will not play a fool to children’s games.”

The gallery stirred again but this time there were muffled whispers, and then suddenly the voices all cascaded together into a wave of fury. It was a symphony of righteousness that threatened to engulf her whole. Evidentially, they’d grown bored of her defense. No one wanted to listen to the same evidence over and over again. What they wanted was to see her hanged for a crime she had never once committed.

“No more! Hold thy tongue, Goody Good.” Judge Stoughton’s unflinching gaze bore into her. “Stop your blubbering! Rise and face the court. Thy hast bewitched Abigail Williams and Elizabeth Parris. Confess your sins!”

“Slander me no more. Will you not hear me?”

A grunt escaped the man. “I’ll have thee quiet. Didst not curse your neighbors before?”

“Listen not to them,” Sarah stammered out. “I am falsely accused.”

“Goody Abbey believes you malicious,” the man said firmly. Like many before him, this man had no honor to speak of and she knew that he had no qualms of convicting an innocent woman. To him, this was simply another day. “Dost, thou accuse her of slander?”

“I know I deserve all shame, but I am no witch!”

“Lies you say,” the man peered at her. “What have you to say about thy husband?”

“My husband?” A hint of coldness crept into her voice. “What ails him?”

“Your bargain with Lucifer. He saw you commune with evil,” Judge Stoughton nodded in the direction of the gallery, where her husband sat behind all those people. She did not bother to turn around and look at him. There was no use in that anymore. Had he wanted to save her life; he would’ve done it already. She needed him now more than ever, but the foul creature had turned against her in one final blow. He’d thrown her to a pack of raving wolves, hungry for a kill. “Why have you turned against thy brethren? It is not natural what you have done.”

“I here confess, I am a shrew,” Sarah mumbled, feeling the tears silently run down her face. Though she’d expected this betrayal, it did nothing to soften the pain blossoming in her chest. Deep down, she’d wanted him to stand and defend her as a husband should for his wife. But like always, nothing ever came true for her. It was her own fault for expecting so much from a man who’d failed her more than once. “But I do not compact with the Devil any more than you do.”

“Dorothy Good,” the man announced with a haughty smirk. “What of thy daughter? She has confessed to the sin of witchcraft. A mere child of five.” He paused – a deliberate silence that allowed the gallery to whisper among each other. It was if they were a crowd of children eagerly awaiting the end of their favorite story, where goodness prevailed while the wicked were struck from life. “The girl practiced witchcraft under the watchful eye of her mother! She bore witness to Sarah Good compacting with evil!”

“What is the matter with thee?” The sheer audacity of that man stumped her. “She is but a child! What wickedness hath she done?”

“Dorothy Good communed with a serpent. It whispered evil to her,” the man continued. “Dost, hear? It urged her to commit unspeakable acts. It drank from her blood! A serpent – a familiar given to her by her mother. A tell-tale sign of a witch! Thy daughter saith you are wicked! 

At this, the gallery buzzed in anticipation and she wondered how they could act like this was a game and not a fight for her life. Her daughter knew nothing of witchcraft. All of them had contributed to this tangled mess of lies. Her only hope was that they would regret this day for the rest of their miserable lives. Whenever they thought of Sarah Good, she wanted the guilt to plague them day-and-night, even in their sleep. Only then could she rest in peace.

The end was near, it was an indisputable truth that terrified her, but she refused to act on that fear. If the only way to live was to confess, then she’d rather hang alongside witches. To live life as a liar was a far worse fate than to die an innocent woman. It still amazed her that she’d spent so much of her life around death, but never once did she think she’d face it so soon. She knew that everyone died eventually – some young and some old, and some who’d never even lived long enough to see the sun sink into the horizon, but it had never crossed her mind.

“She is a child,” she affirmed louder so her voice could be heard over the noise. “I am innocent! I have made no covenant with death.”

“Have you no shame?” Another grunt from the stoic man. “Tituba has confessed to witchcraft! You brought her before thy master and forced her to sign her name in the serpent’s book!”

“It is a lie,” Sarah met his eyes. “I am no witch.”

“Confess to your sins and the truth shall set you free,” Judge Stoughton implored. “Will you continue to dishonor the laws of the Commonwealth and the Church with your deceit? Think carefully about what you say next.”

“I am no witch. I have nothing to confess.”

The man sighed. “Since you refuse to confess, there is no new evidence to present. We shall hear no more defense in the case of the Commonwealth versus Sarah Good –”

“You have yet to allow me to defend myself!” A sharp pain resonated in her belly, and she clutched it as she looked on in horror. Several men recoiled as if expecting her to curse them right there. “Will you not hear me?”

“The law based upon the Bible, writ by Almighty God, forbids the practice of witchcraft.” He paused once more. “Has the council reached a verdict?” 

“We have,” Thomas Danforth’s voice shook, and like before, he did not meet her eyes. She supposed it was easier to condemn a woman to death that way. “We find Sarah Good guilty of witchcraft. Penalty for such abomination is hanging till dead.” 

Cries of relief filled the court, there was joy in the air and Judge Stoughton looked on with a pleased expression. All but two celebrated the fate of the witch. Deep in thought, William Good considered the implication of his wife’s demise. A divine punishment for an unholy creature, but it created a knot of chaos with no viable solution. At least not one he could see without leaving his daughter to fend for herself. What to do now? He could wait till Dorothy was released, but that in it of itself created more problems. How would they survive here? If finding work had been a tiring, difficult experience before, then it would be nearly impossible now. Only a lunatic would hire him for any fieldwork and even then, it wouldn’t be enough. What to do in the face of death? He’d starve before Dorothy was released unless his mother-in-law took pity on them.

Then it hit him like a rock over the head – to continue living in Salem would be a futile effort, a costly and likely a deadly endeavor. There was no use in staying here, where the people would resent Dorothy till the day she died. If they couldn’t stay, then better they forge their path far away from this madness. Boston was their only escape; it was the only way to save her soul. The man looked at his wife, really looked at her this time. This was the final time he’d ever see her alive and though he resented her for many things, he didn’t rejoice at her death. Only the Lord could forgive her now. May God have mercy on her soul.

As for the guilty, she fell forward to her knees. She could not breathe and for a single moment, Sarah wished for the abnormality – the electric surge she felt in her spine long ago, when a tree branch, she’d been climbing on snapped in half. She’d only wanted to feel the wind against her face and to spread out her arms like a bird and fly far away from this life. Far away from the dull ache in her limbs and the haunting look in her father’s eyes the night he took his life. So, when the wood split with a crack, she’d closed her eyes in anticipation, bracing herself for the impact of the ground but it never came and when she opened her eyes, Sarah stood in the church without a single scratch on her. How she wished for it to lash out at these men, who stood before her with arrogant smiles as they congratulated each other on a job well done. She buried her face into her skirt and let out a quiet sob.

Life was truly unfair. It was an utter disaster.

* * *

**19 July 1692**

**Gallows Hill, Salem**

Quiet as it was, she could not hear herself think. The pounding in her head distracted her from the crowd of people gathering before them. Noticeably absent was her husband, William Good had made it clear that he held no affection for her anymore. Though truthfully, there had never been a hint of fondness between them. She had no lost love for him either. Unlike the trial full of exhilaration and melodramatic accusations, only a handful of people arrived that morning to witness their deaths. None of them for her, of course. Although Sarah would never understand it, Rebecca Nurse still smiled gently at her family as if her executioner wasn’t standing right there. It seemed like she didn’t mind that everything that made up Rebecca Nurse would disappear in a few minutes. They’d be forgotten, it would be like they never existed at all. As for Sarah, the memory of Daniel Poole would die alongside her. 

To her right stood Susannah Martin but unlike the other women including Sarah herself, the older woman trembled in what did not seem to be fear of the unknown, but in an unadulterated fury that she could barely contain. “I am no witch,” the woman laughed. “I never hurt man or woman or child. The folly of children has condemned us to death.”

“The Lord is my shepherd,” another woman sniffled. “Have mercy on me! I am no witch!”

That must be Elizabeth Howe, or maybe it was Sarah Wildes. Did it matter anymore? She’d expected this way sooner as none of the women had bothered to muffle their weeping in jail. One of them had even cried all night. She strongly suspected Rebecca – how else could the woman stand there with more grace than ever in the face of oblivion.

The crowd grew quiet as a burly man stepped forward with a steadfast frown. Hooded to hide his identity from them, which was certainly new for Salem as no other executioner in their recorded history had ever done that before. Though it likely had to do with their status as witches. No one dared to cross a witch, even one about to die. With her final breath, a witch could curse an entire bloodline for eternity.

He continued his duties without a single moment of hesitation. Sarah was the first to go and as such, she stood perfectly still as the man fastened the noose around her neck. Not too loose, but not too tight either. He finished and moved on to the next person in line, Rebecca Nurse, who greeted him with weary eyes and a curt smile. Another cry rang out into the morning sky but this time, it was Rebecca Nurse’s daughter. Sarah didn’t know the girl too well, but she’d heard the stories of her fragile, yet kind spirit. Once again, she was grateful that no one was here for her. Dorothy would never sleep again if she saw what was about to happen.

“Let you fear nothing,” Rebecca called out to her daughter. “Another judgment waits us all. “We shall find each other once more in Eternal Life.”

A kindhearted sentiment if there ever was one but still a mere sentiment, nevertheless. It did nothing to alleviate the shaking in Sarah’s hands. Tilting her head up, she looked up at the sky, while avoiding the sight of the oak tree and the rope around her neck that slithered up and over a sturdy-looking branch. The tail of the rope loosely pooled at the feet of another man, but he was not hooded like the executioner. She sighed and turned away to look up one last time. It’d be beautiful if she could turn into one of those ravens perched upon the tree branch. She’d stretch out her wings and fly away, and she’d keep flying until all her worries disappeared alongside Salem.

“Sarah Good?”

Sarah nearly fell back, startled by the tall man who now stood by her side. Now closer to her, she could see his face clearly – wrinkles around his green eyes but he couldn’t be any older than fifty, and he lacked the tan that all men who worked in the fields possessed. At that moment, Sarah recognized him, she’d caught a glimpse of him once in congregation. Though his name eluded her, she did not need to look any further than his all-black clothes. This man was upper-class, no doubt about it. No one else could afford those dyes except for government officials and the church. What he paid for those dyes could feed a family of four for a week.

“I am Sarah Good,” she affirmed with a frown. “What of it?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, I don’t,” Sarah said impertinently. “Should I know you?”

The man stared at her but did not say a word. Then Rebecca Nurse spoke up, “Reverend Noyes, what a pleasure to see you again. Though I had hoped it would be under better circumstances.”

“Goody Nurse,” the man nodded at her. “I am here for you, Sarah Good. You’ve been given a chance to repent for your sins. Confess and give us the names of the others.”

“The others?”

“The other witches,” he confirmed. “We are told you know of more.”

What a pity this man had the misfortune of having to oversee their hangings. Reverend Noyes wasn’t here by choice, he’d been sent by someone to procure a confession from any one of them. Though, it seemed like she was the preferred option. What he couldn’t have known was that he would leave today more disappointed than ever. Rebecca Nurse would not confess. Elizabeth Howe would not confess. Susannah Martin would not confess. Sarah Wildes would not confess. And as for herself, Sarah Good would not confess either. There was nothing to confess as no actual crime had been committed.

“I have nothing to confess,” Sarah whispered through clenched teeth. “I am no witch, so I have no names to give to you. You shall hang an innocent woman.”

“The child,” the man peered at her with something akin to pity in his eyes. “I am told that the child did not survive. What name did you give her?”

Sarah scowled before turning away to look down at her feet. The clergyman need not remind her of the tragedy still fresh in her mind. It all happened two weeks ago, the pain began late at night and her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. Without anyone in sight, not even a midwife to assist her, Sarah brought her daughter into this world alone. When she first held Mercy tight in her arms, she felt a spark of hope resurge in her chest again. The hope for a better life had come to plague her once more.

Half-awake, she peered down at her daughter’s face in wonder. How did this precious creature come from her? Sarah had never felt this way before, not even with Dorothy, who’d been snatched up by the midwife before she could even touch her. Pure joy consumed her for the first time in her life. Tears fell freely down onto little Mercy’s scrunched up face and the newborn bristled before opening her eyes to look up at Sarah. A light shade of brown, so similar to her own. But at closer inspection, Sarah swore she saw green flecks in her daughter’s eyes. It reminded her of the forest by her childhood home, where she’d frequently played as a child, peering in almost every single day but never daring to venture in for fear of losing her way. Mercy’s eyes were the shade of ember. Her daughter would burn the forest down. Before her eyes fluttered shut, Sarah kissed her daughter’s forehead.

When she woke up the next day, Mercy was nowhere in sight. With sheer determination, she’d lifted herself from the ground that was stained with a mixture of blood and other fluids. Sarah propped herself up against the wall and dragged her wobbly legs across the room to the wooden door that separated her from her daughter. She’d pounded the door with her fist and screamed for what seemed like hours. Sarah had just collapsed from exhaustion when the jailer swung the door open and with an uncaring voice told her of what transpired after she’d succumbed to sleep. Her daughter had taken her first and final breath in Sarah’s arms.

“Confess,” the man implored again. “Give us names and you shall be set free. Your daughter will be given a proper burial if you do.”

Fury crawled up her throat and Sarah wanted nothing more than to rid the world of his horrid man that hid behind the clergy, and the Bible. All of them were nothing more than hypocrites! Mercy Good was an innocent soul and they dumped her body into an unmarked grave. If a child could not be shown mercy, then what hope was there for this world? After all was said and done, Sarah was glad she wouldn’t have to witness the atrocities of man anymore.

“What do you say? Will you confess yourself or will you hang?”

Swallowing down a whimper, Sarah lifted her head to meet the man’s gaze. In his eyes, she saw her life – waiting by the window for her father who’d gone off to hunt, the first time that Dorothy walked on her own, and the face of the man that she loved dearly. There was not enough time in the world to remember all the happy moments she’d had with them. Of course, there were bad memories among them, but Sarah didn’t have the time to care anymore. The time to mourn had long passed and the end was near.

A wave of loneliness washed over her, but then she thought of Mercy. She choked down a sob. The life that would never be. It would be like she’d never existed in the first place. Then Dorothy, who waited in a cell for her. If William had any sense at all, he’d flee with their daughter into Boston and they’d live the rest of their lives in anonymity. All that Sarah wanted now was for her daughter to live a happy life. To live the life that she never could. If the price was her life, then Sarah was more than willing to pay it. Finally, she allowed herself to think of Daniel Poole – a strange man, who had toted a stick around in his pocket like it was a musket and whenever Sarah questioned him on the matter, the dark-haired man would pat it down and assure her with a smile that it was for good fortune. He had even embraced her when she’d told him of the darkness that lingered inside of her – how she’d fallen from that tree and woken up in the church without a clue how she’d gotten there.

Daniel had promised to take her away from Salem, he swore to take her somewhere – a place full of the unimaginable, where Sarah would never be ashamed of her darkness. In fact, she would question how she had ever lived without it. It was a promise that died with him, but the worst part of it all was that Sarah didn’t even know how he died – one brisk morning, he’d taken off into the woods and that was the last time she ever saw him. She had waited all day, hoping to see him emerge with a grin and a rabbit in hand but he never came back. He had just disappeared into thin air, the village blamed it on wolves and that was the beginning of her despair.

Sarah would never regret him.

“Reverend, it’s time.” The executioner broke the uneasy silence.

“Sarah Good,” Reverend Noyes gripped her shoulders. “Do you know who I am? I say you will hang if you do not open with me!”

Sarah took a deep breath; it would be her last. And then she thought of them – Daniel’s blue eyes that lit up when she’d agreed to marry him, Dorothy’s fit of giggles in the morning, and Mercy’s steady breathing. Though she lacked riches and prestige, she was forever grateful for her life.

“I am no more witch than you are a wizard,” she shouted up toward the sky. “And if you take my life God will give you blood to drink!”

A bird flew overhead and with a smile, Sarah closed her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - Puritans didn't actually wear black, it's a common misconception. They actually wore other colors like indigo because black was a super expensive dye that only the church or government officials could afford. 
> 
> 2 - At the beginning of the story, I wrote that Sarah washed her face - the original line was supposed to be that she washed her hair. But after a bit of research, I found out that Puritans didn't really clean themselves. They thought that keeping their linen "clean/white" was enough. They thought that it would soak up all the dirtiness from their bodies, which doesn't really make that much sense but it was a thing back then. They only really washed their hands and faces. 
> 
> 3 - I watched The Witch and reread The Crucible just to write the dialogue. It was hard and as you probably noticed, around the end of the chapter, the dialogue loses its "1600 feel." I learned a lot of interesting things like the word "thou" was actual seen as an insult by the 1690s. It was associated with Quakers, who were treated terribly by the Puritans. The use of "thou" changed because social classes were being established and it was considered rude to use "thou" casually because you didn't know if the person you were speaking with was upper-class or not. It became exclusively for lower-class people and that is why Judge Stoughton uses it to refer to Sarah.
> 
> 4 - The Crucible gets a few things wrong. In the play, Thomas Danforth is a huge dick but in reality, he wasn't that bad. He denounced the use of spectral evidence (which were visions and dreams) during the actual trials, which caused him to not be chosen for the Court of Oyer and Terminer. It was William Stoughton, who was the real dick. Fuck that guy. 
> 
> 5 - Some bits of dialogue were taken from actual court records. For example, Susannah Martin did say "I never hurt man or woman or child." Although the context is much different, Susannah said it (while laughing) because Mercy Lewis "fell into a fit." It didn't help her case unfortunately. Also, Sarah's final line was an actual thing she said to Reverend Noyes. The interesting part is that he actually died of an internal hemorrhage a few years later, so he did end up choking on his own blood. 
> 
> 6 - Dorothy Good was accused of witchcraft and imprisoned at the age of five. She testified against her own mother and said that Sarah Good gave her a snake that drank from her blood. Dorothy was later released though the experience traumatized her. Mercy Good also existed but she died not too long after she was born in prison. 
> 
> 7 - Also notable is that I mention the mole on Sarah Good's back. Apparently having a mole on your back was a witch thing. Though it's not actually known if she had a mole because during the second examination, they couldn't find it again. 
> 
> 8 - Sarah Abbey did accuse her of being "malicious" because Sarah Good yelled at her for something (idk) and a few weeks later, her cow died. So, Sarah Abbey was like dead cow = witch. Another person to testify against her was Tituba (the slave of Reverend Parris) who claimed that Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne forced her to practice witchcraft. It's now believed she was beaten by Reverend Parris into confessing. She was not hanged and it is unknown what happened to her. Tituba also claimed that Sarah Good had a yellow bird in her hand during one of the court sessions. She used it to "attack" the girls. 
> 
> 9 - Sarah Good's husband was kind of a dick. He testified against her and said that he feared that she was a witch due to "her bad carriage to him." 
> 
> To conclude, this chapter is dedicated to all the victims of the Salem Witch Hunt including the twenty known executed and the many more who died in prison.


End file.
